


And Out of the Darkness They Proclaimed to Have Brought Light

by gutbub



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Cults, Religion, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:08:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22270798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gutbub/pseuds/gutbub
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier enter a town ran by a cult... Oops!
Comments: 2
Kudos: 25





	And Out of the Darkness They Proclaimed to Have Brought Light

**Pain, pain, pain.** He tried to remember a before, a time when there wasn't any pain. He couldn’t. There was no before, no after, just pain, forever and eternal. Every muscle, every bone, every sinew, every inch of skin echoed with pain. His nerves dancing in endless electric dances, sometimes tingling, sometimes stinging. He wrapped around himself, as if to contain the pain, as if his fragile form could ever hope to hold something so wild. He held it in, letting it rest heavy in his chest, every beat of his heart threatening to dislodge it and send the pain loose. He kept his breaths quick and shallow, wondering how much longer he would live.

Every day, he thought it was every day at least,  _ They _ would come and  _ They _ would make an example of him.  _ They _ would read from holy scriptures of  _ Their _ god, and offer up the blood of  _ Their _ beaten sacrificial lamb. He couldn’t remember how he wound up with  _ Them _ . Had he always been with  _ Them _ ? Did he have a life without  _ Them _ ? Slowly, he forced himself to remember. He rummaged through his memories, things blending and unblending from one another.

A river brown with mud, swollen beyond its banks, debris spinning and clashing. The green grass growing through the snow. The warm snuffle of a horses muzzle as it searched for treats. Bare feet pounding dusty ground in flight away from one very pissed off rooster. Then he remembered. The vice like grip on his arm, the sudden brightness of light, the hissing voice of his mother,  _ “You freak.” _

He remembered now. The dam burst open, and every memory flooded forward, surging like racing horses, hot with sweat. He shivered. He had been raised with  _ Them _ , brought up with  _ Their _ beliefs, raised with  _ Their _ god,  _ Their _ laws,  _ Their _ morals.  _ They _ had decided that he was the enemy.  _ They  _ had decided that he was the fault in  _ Their _ perfection. He had trusted  _ Them _ , had offered aid to  _ Them _ , had dinner with  _ Them _ , believed himself to be friends and good acquaintances with  _ Them _ .  _ They _ took his trust, his naivety, his earnest assumption that other people were as earnest and honest as him, and took advantage of it.

He shook, attempting an impossible feat, wherein one escapes themselves. He failed. And so in miserable silence he sat and waited for death.

* * * *

Geralt of Rivia walked next to his chestnut mare, hand resting on her neck as her head bobbed with every step. She had managed to get a stone bruise on her hind left hoof, Geralt had decided that they would head to the nearest town and pay for a stall to let her rest and heal. Geralt had gone through enough horses in his lifetime to know that working a horse that showed even a minor sign of lameness would more often than not result in an unusable animal.

Jaskier walked next to Geralt, rambling on about nothing and everything at once. Geralt didn’t think he minded it anymore, at first it been absolutely infuriating, but he had learned to tune the bard out.

The road crested a small hill and before them rested a small town, seemingly average, except for the absolutely massive stone church that rose above the other buildings like a beached whale. It's form harsh and dark, gilted windows shining like glitter in the sun. Smoke rose lazily from nearby thatched buildings, curling ever upwards in the still air. 

"That's… interesting." Jaskier tilted his head, looking at the church. 

Geralt gave a soft hum in response. They strolled on into the town, Geralt taking note of how quickly conversations stilled and shuttered closed as they looked for a livery. Within three minutes of entering the town, he, Jaskier, and Roach were surrounded on all sides by seemingly all of the town's men. 

"We don't need no outsiders here! Be on your way." A man, slightly more well dressed than the others, with graying brown hair and brown eyes surrounded by wrinkles, said. 

Geralt sighed. Of course. "My apologies, but my horse is lame and I'm looking for a stable to keep her until she can heal." A moment of silence. "I have coin, and will stay outside of town."

The men murmured amongst themselves, coin was scarce when you didn't get money from outsiders, relying on a complicated bartering system within their town to ensure that everyone survived the coming winter. Finally the older man nodded. "That's agreeable. Szymon will take your horse and make sure she's taken care of. You two will camp a minimum of two miles from town."

A short younger man, with blue eyes and short brown hair stepped forward to take Roach's reins. Geralt sighed and moved to grab the saddle bags, reaching for a pouch of coins. 

"This should be enough for three days. She should be healed by then." He pushed the pouch into Szymon's hand, letting the man take Roach. 

The men parted to let Geralt and Jaskier move through. Geralt moved easily through them, Jaskier doing a strange walk/jog to stay right on his heels, concerned about his safety with these strange townsfolk. Then the men surrounded them once more. 

"Sorry. But you two are sinners. You must be punished as such." The older man spoke from the back of the crowd, thinking himself safe from violence. 

"What? We just entered your town." Jaskier blurted as Geralt drew one of his swords. 

"You are outsiders, and outsiders are sinners and a danger to us all."

Before Geralt could act, two men grabbed Jaskier, holding a knife to his throat. "Drop your weapon and we won't kill the bard." The leader explained.

Geralt gave a groan of frustration, slowly setting his sword down. Four men grabbed him and they were dragged towards the imposing form of the church. 

"Geralt, what the fuck!" Jaskier stumbled as he was dragged along. 

"Shut up!" A man said as he punched Jaskier. Jaskier fell into a glowering silence, which Geralt was already in. 

The heavy wooden doors of the church groaned open and heavy steps echoed against the harsh stone. Heavy dull light came through gray cobwebby windows, benches sat in strict order facing an imposing alter, heavy and harsh. 

Jaskier and Geralt were dragged down a flight of stairs, the air heavy, damp, and musty. The only light from weak flickering flames. Another door creaked open and they were shoved through, stumbling over one other and on to the cold rough floor. The door slammed shut with a bang, and the clattering of locks sealed their fate. 

Jaskier nursed his sore mouth, "What the fuck was that."

Geralt got to his feet, surveying their prison. Light barely filtered in through metal bars at the very top of the cell, only five inches in height. The stone was hard, and well grouted, and the door was solid and no doubt very very difficult to break, even for him. Then there was a slight shifting of the shadows in a corner. He turned his attention to it. A human, curled in over itself, as if to stay hidden. 


End file.
